Human
by StJost
Summary: Percy was trembling. He hadn't been able to stop that recently.
1. Prologue

AN: So I've been watching a lot of The Green Mile lately and I realized I was most interested in the character of Percy Wetmore. I got thinking about a lot of the things they put him through and a lot of the things he put them through and how, even though he could be such an ass, he was just as human as the rest of them. In addition to that, I also read an unfinished fanfiction about this scenario, but it was never completed, and I thought it would be interesting to experience it from Percy's perspective.

For those uncomfortable with the topic, I would like to note that this story deals with the subject of rape.

I'd like to give some credit to my beta reader, civilwarrose; she's been an amazing help throughout this process!

* * *

**Human|**Prologue

Percy was trembling.

He hadn't been able to stop that recently. He'd take a seat and heave a few deep breaths, but it would only calm him for a few moments. After that, he would stick his fingers out for a look and they'd shake like reeds in a windstorm. He'd grip the edge of the desk so tightly that he at least couldn't see the trembling, but he could feel it. It vibrated through his body, rattled his bones, and made him feel weak and empty. He hadn't felt much else since the bad death of Eduard Delacroix.

If he had known the whole thing was gonna go to hell in a handbasket, all because of a little sponge, he never would've even considered leaving it dry. He could still feel the acrid stench lingering in his nostrils. Even if he hadn't been threatened towards putting in his transfer request by that oaf and his leash-holder, he would've had to anyway. There was no way he could stick around.

He had known that watching a man die shouldn't have been a pretty sight. No one had to tell him that, and his morbid curiosity would've overruled it anyhow. But Paul had said it best: he fucked up. He had fucked up big time. It was true, no one had explicitly told Percy that the sponge should be wet, nor had they explained what would happen if it weren't. He could still feel Paul hovering over his shoulder as they rehearsed the process. Each time he stuck the sponge deep in the then-empty brine bucket, his curiosity was piqued. It was supposed to be wet. Did that mean that it was actually necessary, or that it was just how it was done? Percy wasn't an idiot; he knew it would be bad, at least for Del, and his bitterness after their previous encounters had destroyed any reservations he'd had. Either way, the job would get done.

But never in a thousand years had he imagined it would be that horrific. As soon as Del had let out his first strangled cry, he felt a void settle in the pit of his stomach. It was harder to hate Del when he couldn't see his face or hear that damned half-English of his. Instead, he could just as easily imagine any man in that chair, including himself. His mind kept flickering back to the previous day when Paul and Brutal threw him in Ol' Sparky. He'd been terrified then that there were gonna strap him in and flip the switch, and now he could think of nothing else. He had barely suppressed a whimper when the thrashing body had erupted in flames and he wasn't even able to close his eyes as Paul spun him round and held him still to watch. The bile rose in his throat as he pictured the fire rolling in the charred hollows of the black hood.

He knew he shoulda soaked it. He was gonna have nightmares about that night for years. Even when he was wide awake he couldn't stop seeing the Cajun's writhing body spouting bright blue flames. He held his hands up again; still, they shook.


	2. Chapter One

AN: I wanted to put a trigger warning on this chapter much like I did with the first; this scene will contain intense situations and heavily-suggested non-consensual sex. If you're fine with reading that, by all means, read on. And review, if you like; we like reviews. :)

* * *

**Human**| Chapter One

It was days later and Percy was stepping out of the water closet when it happened. He came face to face with Brutal and Van Hay, the men looming over him as he stared up at their grim expressions. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them.

"Can I help you fellas?" Percy sneered. He flinched as Brutal grabbed his arm tightly.

"On the contrary, Percy. We're here to help you." He felt himself being spun violently and slammed against the doorframe, groaning as his head rattled from the impact.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you goddamn idiot?!" he growled through gritted teeth. He could feel Van Hay unbuckling his duty belt, sliding it off him. He gave his best, struggling against Brutal's firm grip, but soon he felt his wrists held firmly behind his back. His wild kicking did nothing, as the few strikes that found their mark did little to faze the seasoned guard. There was an arm around his middle and he felt himself being lifted into the air.

"We toldja, Percy; we're here to help," Van Hay chimed in as he presented a set of handcuffs for Percy's inspection.

"How the... What are you _doing_?" he demanded as Brutal walked him toward the cells. He swung his feet out as dangerously as he could manage, finally landing a kick to the back of Brutal's knee. His assailant nearly buckled at the sudden strike, but found his feet and retaliated with a sharp upwards jerk on Percy's wrists; the captive shouted in pain.

"We gonna help implore upon you the nastiness of what you did to poor ol' Delacroix. Wharton, back the hell up." Percy could feel the colour draining from his face. The sick emptiness he'd felt for days bottomed out and intense fear crawled in on top of it. Brute stopped several feet away from Wild Bill's cell. He could see a yellow-fanged smile twisting the greasy inmate's face as he crawled off his cot and leaned casually against the back wall of his cell. Down the block, large, dark hands disappeared from the bars as their owner retreated further into his own.

"F-fuck," Percy choked as Wharton blew him a kiss, "Please...please, no-"

"What, you don't wanna get to know Billy the Kid?" Brute teased viciously as he dropped Percy on his feet while Van Hay opened up the cell.

"We gotta present for ya, Wharton," the executioner grinned.

"Hoo, is it my birthday, boys?!" he cheered, maintaining his place at the back wall, "That's awful nice of y'all!" Brutal spun Percy on his feet; Percy didn't concern himself with stopping the tears streaking his cheeks. His throat was tight as he stared up at Brute in fear.

"Please, Brutal, I'm sorry, I'm- Jesus, this isn't human."

"What you did to Del wasn't fucking human." Brutal gave a shove and Percy stumbled back into the open cell with a cry; the door crashed shut after him. He pressed himself into it, gripping the bars tightly.

"You can't do this! You can't leave me in here with him!" Percy sobbed. Catching the panicked boy off guard, Brutal grabbed his wrists and pulled them through the bars, slamming his face into the steel. Van Hay clapped Percy's own cuffs on his pale wrists.

"You got ten minutes." And away they walked as Percy screamed and fought to wrench his hands loose; he felt a presence closing in from behind. The jerking motions weren't doing anything to loosen the cuffs; he knew they wouldn't. His skin felt raw where they dug into it and his throat was hoarse from his desperate pleas. His head pounded with pain and fear and he sunk to the green linoleum, tears falling onto his lapel. A violent shudder shook him as thin, unwelcome hands settled onto his neck and shoulders.

"Well I guess we can finish where we left off, huh, lover boy?" Wharton teased, running a cracked fingernail along Percy's trembling jaw line. Percy choked out another sob, pleading wordlessly. Wild Bill plucked his cap off his head, arranging it on his own dirty mop of hair. Percy let his own head slump against the bars as Wharton slid his hands beneath the skirt of his coat, busying themselves with his pants clasp.

"If we on'y got ten minutes, we oughtta get goin', oughten't we?"

* * *

When Brutal and Van Hay returned, they found Percy almost exactly as they'd left him, slumped against the bars of Wild Bill's cell. His wrists were red where the cuffs had been and his eyes were puffy, but no more tears were falling. Brutal could see a sharp bruise forming where his cheek had hit the bars. Percy didn't meet their gaze as they approached the cell.

"Looks like our boy learned his lesson for once," Van Hay smirked, pulling out a handcuff key and unlocking the shackles. Percy pulled his hands towards himself, shaking. His eyes looked empty in a way that Brutal had never seen them; the privileged nuisance had never been so quiet. He staggered to his feet as the cell door rolled open. Van Hay and Brutal each took a hold of him to haul him out into the corridor, but he shoved away from them in terror.

"Don't," he muttered, still not meeting their eyes. For a moment, he seemed to debate whether he feared Wharton or his fellow guards more. Finally, he shirked past the men onto the Mile, careful not to touch either of them.

"Hat, Wharton," Brutal commanded. Wharton smiled from his reclined position on his cot and plucked the cap off his head, sending it twirling through the air at Brute. The prisoner remained silent, his grin saying everything he didn't. As Van Hay slammed the door shut, Brute held the cap out to Percy, who didn't look up. He stood in the hall, looking very small compared to his previous, cocky self. Percy jumped a mile when the cap was slapped onto his head and Brutal was met with a fiery, defiant expression in the younger man's eyes. His reddened lids were brimming with tears again and as they fell, the blonde could feel hate and betrayal in each one.

"The rest of your gear's on the desk." Brute held the cuffs out for Percy to take. Instead, he turned and made his way slowly to the front of the room. His steps were slow and deliberate, a stiff walk expected of a man in his position. Brutal and Van Hay watched as he paused at the desk, picked up his duty belt, and exited the Mile.

The only sound was the soft crying of John Coffey coming from the back cell.


	3. Chapter Two

**Human** | Chapter Two

He sat in the car for a very long time, staring at his cousins' plantation-era home. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go in. He needed a bath; that much was certain. Painkillers wouldn't hurt either. Once the initial shock had worn off, he'd become very aware of how...contaminated he felt. He could bathe for weeks and he wasn't so sure he'd ever feel clean again. And the pain...

The ride home, though short, had been distressing to say the least. He leaned to one side, resting on his elbow in the front seat. It was a good deal more comfortable, but he didn't mind that it also kept him mostly out of sight in the automobile.

His eyes had dried and the redness was fading. Soon enough, there would be no reason not to head inside and deal with his relatives and find his way up to a nice, hot bath. The faster he got it over with, the better. He shoved the car door open, stepping out into the humid air and tossing the door shut behind him. He reveled in the relief he felt at not sitting anymore. Maybe getting through the house wouldn't be so bad after all. As he took a step, though, he felt the ache return.

Gritting his teeth, he leaned on the Model A's hood for support. Time to grin and bear it, he supposed.

* * *

Percy leaned against the bathroom door after closing it behind him. The problem with his relatives was that they had always been talkers. He usually didn't mind this, but if you ever wanted to get through the house in any small amount of time, you'd be better to go through the window. A conversation with the Hamiltons was very hard to escape from once you were caught up in it. Taking a step into the middle of the room, he breathed deeply. His work boots echoed around against the tiled walls and floor.

He loved the way this bathroom amplified all the noises inside of it. A rushing tap turned into a waterfall in here, something with enough force to wipe his mind clean, at least for a little while. He spun the tap open and the waterfall gushed towards the bottom of the tub, filling the white basin with a blissfully hot bath. He turned and caught sight of himself in the standing mirror. He was paler than usual, but not enough to cause alarm from Margie and Walt. As he shrugged off the dark blue coat, he sulked at how...small he felt without it. The thin white shirt did little to improve his stature.

Leaning against the edge of the tub, he kicked off his boots and socks and loosened his tie, sliding it from his collar. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his waistband, casting it aside with the rest of his work clothes. With nothing but his undershirt on, he noticed a pink stain striping across the ribbed cotton. Now that he looked at it, there were several running criss-cross over the bottom of the shirt. As he plucked at the fabric, though, the pink lines shifted. He pulled up the hem and realized they weren't stains at all. Thin, red scratches ran back and forth across his abdomen. The pale flesh was marred with a blush along the marks. He traced his finger along one as his eyes welled up again.

A sharp series of knocks on the door made him jump, gasping as he turned to see the handle turning. He quickly threw himself against it, gripping the glass knob desperately.

"I'm havin' a bath," he informed the would-be intruder as the tension on the handle disappeared. He couldn't stop the tears that had formed from falling down his cheeks again. So long as they couldn't hear it in his voice...

"That's alright, sweetheart," his cousin's voice drifted through the door, muffled by the heavy wood, "I just wanted to collect your clothes for the wash. Thought that uniform could use a press." Percy stared at the coat and shirt on the floor.

"Alright, just...hang on a second." He quickly shimmied out of his pants and gathered them up, along with the rest of his clothes. Opening the door just enough to pass them through, he felt their weight leave his hand. "Thanks, Margie."

"Not at all, sugar." Margie's footsteps disappeared and he closed the door behind them, heaving a shuddering sigh.

Jesus, he had to get himself under control. He had to bury this. No one could know what had...what those bastards had done. After all, what happened on the Mile stayed on the Mile. It always had. He grimaced ruefully at the thought. Stepping in front of the mirror again, he traced his fingers over the long scratches as he took a shaky breath, swallowing the heavy air. Percy leaned over the tap, turning off the water. He was fine.

Unbuttoning his boxer shorts, he slid out of them and stepped delicately into the scalding water. As he sunk down into it, he cringed as it came into contact with his injuries. Each scratch lit on fire as the water climbed up his belly. Finally, he was enveloped in the heat of the bath and he settled against the back of the tub. Grabbing a washcloth from the tap, he dunked it into the hot water, absently running it over his arms and legs. This was all he needed. A good bath could solve nearly any problem as far as Percy was concerned. He considered staying in there until the water went cold; he knew his cousin and her husband wouldn't mind. There were two other bathrooms in the house if they needed to use the restroom so badly, and Margie was a sweet soul anyway. The extent of what she knew about prison guards came from stories she'd heard on the nightly newscast, and all they ever put on the radio was the interesting stuff like riots and breakouts. She just assumed that he had to deal with the same and treated him like a damned hero. He wasn't complaining; if it meant he got a fresh plate of cookies every once in a while and wasn't woken up for Sunday service if he didn't feel like it, he would just let Margie keep on thinking that his job was as dangerous as she thought it was. It seemed, for him at least, that the most dangerous part of his work had nothing to do with the inmates at all. His expression blanked as he tried to steer his inner monologue away from his coworkers, especially Brutus Howell. At least he didn't have to see Van Hay every day. Howell, on the other hand...he would have to look him in the eye every day until that transfer went through. That was going to be nearly as bad as... Well, it was going to be incredibly unpleasant.

The drip from the tap echoed around the room. He watched as the ripples expanded like sound waves, reverberating off the side of the tub and his cold, exposed knees, with only a few making it through to lap against his chest like waves on a shore. He slid down further into the water and could feel the surface like a hot collar around his throat. He dipped down until the water was just grazing the bottom of his nose. His slow breath made ripples of its own as he gazed across the surface.

He was fine.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and sunk below the surface of the water.


	4. Chapter Three

**Human** | Chapter Three

Paul closed up John's cell after Harry and Brutal led him out for the movie. John smiled happily, chattering with the two as they led him out of the block by the elbows. The door shut with a metallic echo and Paul turned to walk up the Mile, past the final occupant, who was sneering with his yellow teeth bared.

"Hey, I wanna watch that movie too, ya bastards."

"Yeah, hush up."

Wharton smirked. For the first time since he'd been here, he'd been mostly quiet. Other than the occasional demand, he'd been pretty content for the last week or so. Paul didn't like it. Wild Bills didn't just suddenly change their tune. He returned his gaze to the front of the block, where Percy sat going quietly over paperwork. Percy had been pretty quiet lately too, especially so since the time he'd been locked up in the restraint room. Even before that, though, he hadn't picked a fight since Del's execution. Maybe the bastard felt guilty, Paul thought coldly.

As he passed the desk, he could see that Percy held a pen firmly in his hand, but was not writing. It was poised over the paperwork, as though the young guard had become lost in thought and couldn't find his way back.

"Percy?"

There was no response other than a few quiet blinks and a twiddling of the pen. This boy was clearly elsewhere. Paul reached down and put a hand on his arm. He had expected it to snap Percy out of his reverie, but he hadn't expected him to jerk wildly in his seat, holding his arm and staring at Paul as though he'd been burned. He opened and closed his mouth several times, looking as though he was going to tell him off, but couldn't find his voice. Finally, he croaked out a rather anticlimactic, "What?"

"Percy, are you feelin' alright?" Paul asked, his brows torqued with suspicion. Percy's eyes noticeably widened. Clearly, if he was trying to hide something, he thought he was doing a much better job of it. Looking like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he swallowed and nodded slowly.

"Ye-yeah. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." Percy returned his eyes to the paperwork. Still, the pen trembled, and Paul could see his breathing had quickened and his posture had become very stiff.

"Well, I am. I'm fine, thank you very much," he said curtly. Paul wasn't sure if Percy even knew he'd done it, but his eyes suddenly darted towards the cells. It was only momentary, but it was enough.

Wild Bill had seemed awfully content.

The thought hit Paul out of nowhere. Surely not...it wasn't even possible. It was absolutely impossible. Percy hadn't made the mistake of walking down the right side of the corridor since the day Wild Bill made a grab for him, and Wild Bill had no way of getting out of his cell at Percy. If he had, he certainly wouldn't be sitting in there, grinning snidely at every person that walked on by. No, the only way he could've even touched Percy was with outside help. The thought that had initially caused Paul relief almost immediately forced him to consider how many enemies Percy had made since he landed in their laps on the Mile. He certainly couldn't count them between his two hands. Frowning, he considered the tense frame he stood over. Yes, Percy had his enemies. He'd made sure of that by flashing his government connections in every dispute he'd been involved in and picking fights any time the opportunity presented itself. The more Paul wondered, the greater the possibility seemed that there were individuals who hated Percy exactly that much.

"Percy," he started quietly, pausing to be sure he was being paid attention, "I think we oughtta have a talk." He could see the young man shudder visibly at the suggestion. He didn't take his eyes off the desk, but his head shook back and forth. "You don't think so?" He shook his head again. "Listen, you might not-"

"I don't want to have a talk."

"Maybe you need one."

"Paul," he choked. There it was again. That same desperate plea he'd heard nights ago as they restrained him. There was something else behind the fear. Paul found it much easier to identify outside of a heated moment. It was shame.

"Percy, it's alright."

"I can't." His voice fell to a whisper. Now he was staring towards Wharton's cell, watching carefully for any sign of movement or any clue that their conversation could be overheard. A wet spot appeared on the paperwork below him, followed by another. "Not when-" his words caught in his throat. "I can't."

Paul felt a weight sink in his gut. Any hopes he'd had that this behaviour was just an awful coincidence were gone for good. Paul stood stunned for just a moment. He wanted to put a hand on the boy's shoulder, give him a reassuring pat on the back, something...but he was certain all of that would just worsen the situation. He could hear small pats as more tears dripped onto the reports. Whatever fragile walls Percy had managed to build up in the time since whatever happened happened, Paul had pried far enough to break them. He felt rotten for bringing it up. It was equally unhealthy for Percy to sit and pretend it never happened, but this was neither the time nor the place.

"Percy, I've got the desk for awhile," he said in as even a voice as he could muster, taking a step back to give some room, "if you need to take a break."

Percy raised his hand to his eyes, rubbing them as he sniffled. He took in a few ragged breaths before nodding and slowly getting to his feet. Staring at the floor, he passed Paul and made his way to the water closet, shutting the door behind him. Paul watched until he heard the lock click home and took a seat at the desk, taking the damp report on the top of the stack and crumpling it before tossing it in the waste basket.


	5. Chapter Four

**Human** | Chapter Four

Paul took a quick look down the block at the inmates and scribbled generic notes about good behaviour as he strode back to the duty desk where Harry sat with Bill Dodge, going to town on a box of wafers and a game of cribbage. Dean watched with little interest. He was clearly ready for bed, even though he had a long and hopefully uneventful night shift before him. Paul gestured to him as he leaned against the rough back wall, far enough from the card game to avoid being overheard if need be. Dean wandered over, looking curiously at Paul.

"You look tired," he noted as Dean removed his cap and ran a hand through his hair.

"Ruthie was up all last night," he sighed, rubbing his face, "Sore throat, cough, fever...the works." Paul shook his head, staring absently for a moment at the painted brick.

"That's one thing I'll never miss."

"Yeah, well, I guess that's part of the whole package. Raisin' little ones can't be all kite-flyin' and picnics." Paul nodded.

"Sure isn't, I'll tell you that right now." Replacing his cap on his head, Dean considered Paul for a moment.

"Was there something you wanted to talk about?" Paul mulled his words over in his head for a moment.

"I was wondering if you had noticed anything off lately. Around the block."

"Off how?"

"With any of the boys. Have you noticed any of them bein'..." Paul trailed off as he searched for the right words. "Oh, I dunno...I guess, secretive?" Dean quirked his mouth a little as he thought.

"Like, surprise party secretive?" He frowned as he thought further on the question. "What kinda secretive are we talkin' about here?"

"I'm not really sure myself. I thought I'd just ask and see if anything came to mind for you."

"This conversation's just about the most secretive thing I can think of right now," he joked. Paul didn't react, chewing on his lip as he thought. "It sounds like you've got something more specific on your mind, Paul." He nodded.

"I had half a conversation with Percy today. He seems pretty shook up by somethin', not really sure what." It was Dean's turn to nod quietly. "I was wondering if you'd heard if anyone had roughed him up a bit." He shook his head slowly with that same quirked mouth.

"I haven't heard anything," he crossed his arms as he leaned against the cold brick, "but I can't say I'd blame anyone if they did. I think we've all wanted to give the bastard a good wallop at least once." Paul nodded again. He turned at the sound of shuffling down the short hall and Percy emerged from the execution room with a box of polish and cleaner. He paused at seeing Paul but continued towards the closet, head down.

"Dean," Paul muttered, keeping an eye on Percy, "I'd appreciate it if you keep this conversation between us."

"Of course, Paul," he nodded earnestly, "And I'll keep an ear open for you."

"Thanks," Paul smiled, patting him on the shoulder as he stepped towards the time cards and pulled his from its slot. Percy wiped his hands on a rag and tossed it in the closet after the supplies, walking stiffly towards the time cards as well.

"You boys headed home?" Harry looked up from the game as he laid a five on his discard pile.

"Yeah, it's that time," Paul said as Percy nodded quietly next to him. He finished scribbling the appropriate information on his sheet and handed the pencil off to Percy, who was careful not to touch Paul as he took it.

"Give Jan our best, would you?" Bill smiled, "And tell her I miss her cooking already." Paul smirked.

"Of course." Stuffing his sheet back in the slot, he watched Percy do the same. He could feel him seething behind his neutral expression. There was no way to avoid walking out with Paul if he didn't want to call attention to himself. Paul couldn't help smiling inwardly just a bit as he watched Percy warring with himself about what to do once they got off the block. He did feel guilty about cornering the man, but if this was the only way to get him to talk to somebody, then so be it.

"'Night, boys. See you bright and early." He opened the steel door and gestured for Percy to head on out before him.

"Thanks," the quiet guard muttered. The word didn't come out as snide as Paul assumed he hoped it would, and Percy slunk by, staying as far away from the senior guard as the small space allowed. Paul shared a conspiratory glance with Dean before pulling the door shut behind him.

* * *

Percy could hear Paul's calm footsteps following him through the threshold as they exited the prison campus. As soon as he heard the side door echo shut behind them, he quickened his pace across the dark lot.

"Percy," Paul called after him, "Hang on a second."

"No," he growled, stomping through the gravel. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, doing what he could to keep the knot in his chest at bay.

"I just wanna talk." Percy spun on his heel, staring at Paul incredulously.

"I don't wanna talk about anything with you!" He reached his car door and wrenched it open, flopping into the driver's seat and slamming it shut behind him. Paul stopped a few paces away, sighing as he stared at the sky.

Percy jammed his finger on the starter switch and the engine whined. "No," he pleaded quietly, jamming it again, "No no no." Finally the engine roared to life and he pumped the gas- and it promptly fell silent again. Percy swore bitterly. He tried the starter again, but receive no response this time. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, staring straight ahead at the high stone walls of the prison ahead of him. Sighing desperately, he tried the switch one more time. Still nothing.

He leaned back in the seat, groaning and rubbing his tired eyes. Upon opening them, he could still see Paul staring through the window at him, hands on his hips. Percy was abruptly filled with anger and suspicion. Glaring at Paul, he wrenched the heavy door open.

"You bastards messed with my car, didn't you?" he accused brazenly, clambering out of the driver's seat. He gaped at the ever-stoic Paul, brimming with resentment.

"We didn't touch your car, Percy." Percy ground his teeth in frustration as he watched Paul.

"Oh, yeah, alright. It just so happens that the night you chase me out the door is the same night I can't get the hell away from you." He slammed the door shut, leaning against the car and crossing his arms stubbornly.

"I wouldn't have to chase you if you weren't running."

"I ain't," he snapped. Percy could feel the tightness growing in his voice. "I ain't runnin'." Paul calmly considered him for a moment before closing the space between them. When he finally spoke again, he spoke quietly. Percy didn't meet his eyes.

"Let me give you a ride home," Paul suggested, "You can worry about your car in the morning." The young guard stared intently at a spot on the ground behind his superior, weighing his options. There was nothing he wanted less than to get in a car with Paul Edgecomb at that moment. But he did desperately want to find himself at home in his warm bed, tucked away from all this nonsense.

"Goddamnit." He could feel hot tears threatening his downcast eyes. He sniffled and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Goddamn you, Paul." Paul let slip the smallest of smiles as he put a hand on the boy's shoulder, which was quickly rejected, and they drifted towards his own car.


	6. Chapter Five

**Human** | Chapter 5

Paul put the car in park on the side of the dark, dusty road. Flicking off the lights and turning the engine off, he turned to look at the sullen figure in his passenger seat. Percy hadn't moved from his spot against the window; he was still leaning his forehead against the cool glass and staring out at the endless Louisiana night.

"What are we doing here? We still got another two miles to go," he mumbled against the glass.

"I know," Paul nodded, a movement that was lost on Percy, who was pointedly staring in the opposite direction.

"What, you can't wait two miles to take a leak?"

"I just thought it might be nice to have a sit and look out at the night for a while." Percy turned and stared at Paul in disbelief, clearly unamused. "And I wouldn't be too disappointed if a conversation happened to find its way in there," he added.

"Jesus, how many times I gotta tell you I don't wanna have a talk before you start believin' it?" he snarled.

"I guess we're gonna find out," Paul grinned into the dark as he stared out at a field of soybeans, ready to harvest. He linked his fingers behind his head and leaned back, enjoying the sound of crickets chirping in the night and the breeze blowing through the shaking bean leaves. Percy sighed heavily, his shoulders slumped as he stared out at the field.

"I don't get you," Percy growled. Paul opened his eyes and quirked an eyebrow at the morose youth.

"What's not to get?" Paul asked gently.

"I don't get any of you," Percy clarified, "But especially you. Y'all spend your time tormentin' me an' treatin' me like a bad dog what done wrong, but then now all of a sudden you wanna be my friend and get to know me." Percy drew out the words like they were a bad taste he was trying to get out of his mouth. Paul couldn't contain a short chuckle and it was met with a dirty sidelong glance from his passenger.

"Percy, sometimes I don't think you're even aware of the bullshit you put us through on the block. You spend every waking moment rubbing your uncle's position in our faces and poking fun and riling people up whenever you can. If that's how you've been taught to make friends, then you better head back to primary school 'cause, boy, it ain't workin'." Percy stared at him, his mouth open a little. Paul figured it'd come up eventually and now was as good a time as ever. Percy dropped his eyes to his lap as he fiddled with the hem of his coat.

"You expect me to apologize or somethin'?"

"No, I expect you to start actin' your damn age and taking a moment to think before you fly off and do somethin' stupid like deliberately leaving that damn sponge dry. That could've cost all of us our jobs. Even you." Percy didn't seem to have a remark for that and instead he took interest in picking at a spot on his slacks. "But there's nothing that's gonna change that now. As good as it may feel, scolding you about it isn't going to make it any better and that's not gonna make the rest of your time on E-block any more pleasant, for anyone. It's never too late for a little peace between men," Paul added. He glanced up and was met with a dark-eyed, defiant stare.

"I disagree." Percy returned his gaze to the rippling field. Paul could feel all the bitterness in the world radiating from the young man next to him. If his suspicions were correct, he couldn't blame him. No one, not even Percy, deserved something so awful, and if talking it out of the stubborn youth was what it was going to take to find out who was responsible... It didn't help that the boy didn't appear to have any friends to talk to, close or otherwise. Not that he would have spoken with them about such a thing, but at least he'd have a shoulder to lean on. Percy did like to talk; Paul knew that much for sure. But who did he talk to? He couldn't recall him ever mentioning having drinks with a buddy, and Paul was fairly certain that his love life had been less than successful. He didn't wear a ring at any rate. Percy seemed the type who'd been alone for a long time. It was probably one of the few things he was particularly good at. Did he really need someone, or would he recover just fine on his own? As he watched Percy's jaw twitch, Paul sincerely doubted it. He could hear it in his stifled sentences. He wanted to say something. He wanted sympathy. But Percy would not be the first person to bring it up and the closer Paul got to asking the very things he came here to ask, the more his courage faltered. If ever Percy felt the need to say something, Paul would certainly be there. But for now, maybe a friendly chat would do just fine.

"You thirsty?" Percy turned to look at him.

"What?"

"I asked if you were thirsty." Percy paused for a moment, not breaking eye contact with him. He seemed to suspect some sort of trickery or some joke on his behalf. Finding nothing, he nodded quietly. Paul leaned over the back seat and pulled two sweating bottles from a milk crate, holding one out for a stunned Percy. "How about a cola?"

"You planned this damned talk all along, didn't you?" he accused, eyeing the bottle with contempt, "You did mess with my car." Paul shook his head with a smile.

"I'll admit I had hoped to corner you on your way out," he grinned shrewdly, "but I did not touch your car. That was just a shred of good fortune my way."

"Good fortune my ass," he grumbled, accepting the bottle as he unhooked his keys from his belt, readying one to prise the cap off.

"You may wanna give it a few taps on the side first," Paul warned, but it was too late. Percy had popped the seal and the dark soda turned into creamy foam, spurting out from under the tin cap. He caught most of the mess down his front and up his sleeve, but a few rogue trails found their way onto the seat. The frothy soda retreated innocently back into the bottle, leaving it looking half as full. Percy stared in open-mouthed disbelief and Paul couldn't restrain the chortle that overcame him, even as it melted into full-blown laughter. Perhaps it was the seriousness of the conversation that had just ended, but seeing that boy staring irritably at a bottle of soda was just too damned funny. He had a nagging fear that Percy would take offense as he often did if he felt someone was laughing at his expense, but soon he heard a low chuckle join his own. Paul nearly clammed up in surprise. It was the first time he could recall the stiff young man genuinely laughing. There was no malice or ulterior motive and he could practically see the weight lifting off Percy's shoulders.

"Damn," he smiled, switching hands and wiping the sugary fizz off on his already-soaked pant leg, "Just had these pressed, too." Paul watched him open the car door and step out onto the side of the road. His curiosity piqued, Paul followed suit with his own soda.

Percy set the bottle on the ground as he unbuckled his duty belt and slid it off, dropping it on the hood with a thud. Paul leaned casually against the front of the car, tapping around the side of his bottle a few times before prying the cap off with his key, the drink threatening to foam over with a hiss, but staying put in its bottle. Percy eyed him with a smirk as he unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged it off, laying it out on the roof of the car to dry.

"What, did you think I was gonna take off or somethin'?" Percy loosened his tie and untucked his wet shirt front, flapping it a bit as he picked up his sticky soda bottle and took a seat on the running board. Paul had a long drink and returned Percy's look for a moment.

"I figured you might think about it. I wouldn't have stopped you if you had." He took a seat next to the boy. Percy tipped up the brim of his cap and sipped his soda as he stared at the ground, scuffing the toes of his work boots through the dirt.

"I don't feel like runnin'," he said quietly.

Paul studied him as he drew his knees in to lean on his elbows, swilling the drink in the glass. He'd never seen Percy looking so tired. A man who previously had seen little stress in his life had no reason to be. Now the confident turbulence they'd seen in those dark eyes had subsided and jaded unease had taken its place. He took another drink as he glanced out across the dark horizon.

"You don't have to go this alone, Percy." He could see the shoulders next to him tense somewhat out of the corner of his eye, but he kept his sights forward. "There's always someone who'll listen." There was a pensive silence, broken only by the rustling leaves.

"I suppose you're that someone?" he sniffed, taking a long swig.

"If I'm needed to be," Paul nodded slowly. Percy shook his head, tapping the side of the glass with his fingertips. He set the bottle on the ground and folded his arms on top of his knees, taking a long look up at the sky before speaking.

"I spend all my time thinkin' about when I'm gettin' out of here. When that transfer to Briar Ridge'll finally go through," he said, looking to get lost in the dim light of the stars, "Where no one knows and I don't have to feel like a coward for thinkin' twice before puttin' on this uniform. Where I can just be...normal." The admission that he was anything but normal seemed to shake Percy's nerve. Paul could see his knuckles whiten in the dark as his hands made tight fists. "I don't wanna have anythin' to talk about. I just want- I want things to go back to the way they were." It wasn't hard to hear the tightness in his voice and Paul sighed quietly, setting down his own bottle as the man chewed his trembling lip.

"But you know they can't," Paul cautioned softly. He nodded, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"That's the worst of it. I know it won't ever be the same. No matter how much time passes or how much distance there is between me and this place...nothin'll make it any better. Nothin'll fix it." He removed his cap and let it drop in the dirt as he rested his forehead against his palms, shaking his head desperately. "I can't fix it." His shoulders pitched as he inhaled deeply. Paul smoothed the creases of his trousers as he waited patiently. While he had seen the boy cry before, it had never been a more than a quiet, frustrated overflow of despair. He was callous and guarded, either cutting any emotion off at just a few rogue tears or capping his wounded moments with a threat to their jobs. But here he was, broken for all the world to see. He raked his hands through his hair and let out a few shaky breaths, not bothering to wipe away the tears glistening on his cheeks. "I keep wonderin' if there was anything I could have done. I was either too dumb or too scared and to tell you the truth, neither one feels very far off the mark right now."

"I can't imagine any man in your place would've felt any differently," Paul said, finally turning to look at Percy. His eyes were red, but his face was growing calmer as he breathed deeply. He ran a hand through his hair again.

"I can't imagine any man would've gotten himself into such a mess," Percy murmured.

"No man gets himself into something like this," Paul shook his head, "It takes a mean streak a mile wide to put anyone through what you're goin' through. I wouldn't wish it on the devil himself." Percy nodded slowly, staring at his toes. Paul put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and was emboldened when it wasn't rejected. "I know you didn't throw yourself in with that lunatic." The boy shook his head. "So someone else had to have done it. And you know who they are." Percy didn't raise his eyes; Paul could see his jaw clench as he stiffened and he let his hand drop from Percy's shoulder to his own knee. A moment passed where it seemed like Percy wanted to speak, but he remained silent, his eyes locked on his boots. "If you know who they are... If there are men under my command who've got that kind of darkness in their hearts, I want them off my block."

"There's nothing to be done," Percy insisted. Paul was stunned.

"What do you mean, nothing to be done? A guard was disarmed and thrown in with a prisoner. Don't you pretend no one's gonna care about that."

"If someone asks you how you know for sure what these boys done, what're you gonna say?" Paul opened his mouth to reply, but found that his words had left him. All he had was a gut feeling, albeit a very confident one. Percy had never actually outright admitted what had happened. He didn't appear to have any cuts or bruises, nor had he taken time to see a doctor. He almost certainly wouldn't be very receptive of the idea, either. Paul sighed heavily.

"I guess I don't rightly know." Percy shook his head again.

Paul frowned. What could he say? Percy was right. The burden of proof was on him and he had nothing. No one would have been around to witness it except for Percy, Wild Bill, the men who'd done it, and- Paul nearly jumped, he was so shocked by the realization- John Coffey. Coffey would've at the very least heard them, even if he hadn't seen them. He would certainly be able to tell Paul the guards who'd ambushed Percy.

His hopes were lessened somewhat when confronted with the reality of a guard's word against a death row inmate's. While Paul would support Coffey's claim, without proof he had virtually nothing. He could call in a few favors to...persuade the perpetrators to walk off his block and never look back, but that was as far as his reach could improve the situation. He looked up at Percy and was surprised to see him studying Paul carefully.

"I know what you want me to say," Percy said quietly, "But it won't take back what happened and I'd just as soon forget about it." Paul nodded, threading his fingers together and leaning forward on his elbows.

"I just want to help you, Percy." Percy smiled weakly and returned to looking across the field.

"You already did," he assured him as he dried his eyes and cheeks, "sorta. It's nice."

"What is?" Paul quirked his brow as Percy picked up his cap, brushing off the dust.

"Having someone listen." Percy grabbed his soda bottle, finishing it off. He let out a long rush of air as if he'd been holding it in for years. "It's better than talking out loud at nothing in particular, anyway."

"There's always someone-" Paul began.

"Who'll listen," Percy finished. Twiddling the empty bottle, he flicked his finger against the side several times. It sounded back with a clear 'ding.' "Tap the side, huh?" he smirked, turning the bottle over in his hands. Paul smiled, picking up his own soda and giving it a look.

"Yeah. It knocks the bubbles up to the top so they got nothin' to push out," he explained, having a drink, "My daddy taught me that."

"Hmm," Percy hummed in response. Paul briefly wondered if he'd had someone to teach him something as trivial as how to open a cola, but was interrupted by Percy getting to his feet. He set the bottle on the roof of the car as he picked up his coat, running a hand over the dark wool. Paul stood up, pouring the rest of his own soda in the grass.

"Dry yet?" he asked, snatching the other bottle and stepping around to the driver's side to drop them back in the milk crate.

"Not even close," Percy replied, "Doesn't matter anyway. I'm gonna have to have it washed if I don't want to smell like sugar in the mornin'." Paul smiled quietly as he climbed into the driver's seat, pulling his door shut and eyeing Percy through the windshield. He stood staring out at the horizon, arms wrapped up in his jacket. The wind ruffled his hair as he ran his hand through it again before replacing his cap on his head.

Paul never would have thought to use the word 'innocent' to describe Percy Wetmore before that moment, but for once, that was all he could think of as he watched the young guard. He just stood there, watching the ocean of green quiver under the moon, looking like a young boy thinking about all the impossibilities of the world and wondering just how he fit into them. It wasn't a look he'd seen on Percy before and he didn't expect to see it again. For just a moment, though, he was just like them. There was no animosity or rebelliousness overshadowing his motions, but instead, something like quiet rationality. Percy turned to look at Paul for a moment before slinging the jacket over his shoulder and grabbing his duty belt off the hood. He opened the car door and leaned on it as he eyed the seat.

"Y'know," Percy considered quietly, "I'm thinkin' I might go for a walk." He met Paul's curious gaze. "Just look at the night for a while."

"Sounds nice," Paul nodded. He switched the ignition and the engine rattled to life. "You'll be alright? It's a dark couple of miles." Percy turned and stared down the shaded lane, flanked by buckeyes and disappearing into the dusk.

"I think I'll be okay," he quirked his lip with a slow nod. He knew Percy was saying it not for Paul's sake, but for his own. Percy glanced back at him and found his mouth somewhere between a resolute grimace and a relieved smile. "I'll be fine."

He held out a steady hand across the cab. Paul took it with a solid, but gentle shake. It was the closest thing he'd ever seen Percy come to a 'thank you' and it was more than enough for Paul. He released his grip and Percy shut the door and slung his duty belt over his jacket before walking off down the road. Paul flicked the lights on, casting Percy's long shadow down the earthy path as he soldiered on into the night. Wheeling around, he watched the silhouette in the mirror until it was swallowed up by the rolling clouds of dust as the car rumbled back up the road.


End file.
